sweet seraph savior
by oosoozooroo
Summary: she is a special child, after all. (angel-centric/au/in which the angel from book 3 is just as she appeared.)


She does not take the cold iron bar in those pretty and prim hands of hers and cuff a white-coat in the head with it.

She does not flutter languidly upwards to stand on the shiny silver prison box encompassing five winged puppets who have run out of time.

She does not outstretch a dainty palm and intone "It's time to die" in a vociferation like smooth silk to the remaining stunned adults.

Perhaps a weak, and less special child would, but Angel is neither.

She cups Max's long, twitching fingers, now protruding with violet veins and coated in sweat, in her own pretty and prim hands, remembering how these same fingers, months ago, would run lovingly through the sheath of gold that was her hair carelessly, free of the unsteady twitching and tight clenching and unclenching in and out of a stubborn fist. Angel does not have to take any glances into the elder girl's mind to realize she is trying to punch her in the throat and failing terribly.

Angel is bent down in the sparkling vermilion grass that tickles her ankles, little knees bunched up to her delicate chin as she watches the collapsed, convulsing Maximum Ride's eyes roll backwards as she attempts to reject retirement -

_(they can yell murder, murder, murder, until their skinny throats go raw, but it is only, fundamentally retirement ; the act of ending your working or professional career ; after all, living is a job itself if you make it difficult enough, and the children have certainly lived hard, so now, she thinks, it's time for them to rest, rest, rest)_

- even though the other four had gracefully accepted it after brief struggle, deciding that they preferred the calm darkness behind their eyelids to the fierce glare of the morning sun peeking through the box's bars. She supposes it is natural; the white-coats only managed to insert 3/4ths the euthanasia into Max that the rest of the flock were given, the blonde was fighting so hard, like some sort of shameless wild beast, bearing teeth and claw and wing all at once for her shot of survival, until the white-coats relented to let a small amount of poison kill her over a longer period of time.

Before, Angel might have found her determination inspiring.

Now, she knows that there is no beauty in the struggle of the underdog. For those born without the gifts she was deemed, wanting anything more than a short, unproductive life of racing back and forth, teetering cautiously between being murdered and being captured, is supreme arrogance.

At worst, she is disgusted; at best, she feels a trace of pity, only enough to press a weightless kiss to Max's quivering knuckles. The quickly-fading girl tries her damndest to jerk away, but Angel doesn't need to exude even miniscule effort to keep her in place.

"Max, you don't have to worry anymore," she whispers. "Without people like you here, the world is going to be a much better place. Everyone is going to get exactly what they deserve. You're one of the first; a landmark, the end of a generation of sacrifices for something greater. Isn't it nice for you have finally have something to be proud of?"

On the highest surface, Max's mind is a storm of blood-red hate, but when Angel momentarily searches deeper, claws through the savage loathing directed at her, the white-coats, the world -

___**DEATH DIE PAIN HURT**__**STOP STOP STOP STOP TRUST I TRUS TRUST TRUSTED STOP STOP GO LET GO LET GO GO LET I TRUSTED I LOVED STOP DEATH FLOCK DEATH FLOCK **_

- she finds herself bored, because her little puppet never truly learned anything, even at the end.

"Why is it you still love me, Max?" She pets the writhing hand softly, remorselessly. "Maybe it's because I'm like your little girl?"

The heavy breathing has dissipated.

"But I'm not, Max." Angel is smiling now, even as the light from Max's eyes fade, as do her thoughts, hidden far away where no mortal can reach them. She looks like a puppet more than ever now. "I'm your angel, come to take you to heaven."

The hand is limp.

Angel lets it drop in favor of the sweet-smelling basket of chocolate chip cookies behind her, right where she had left it.


End file.
